Eight siblings were squabbling over millions of dollars — a great fortune back in 1951. All agreed that one brother has ensured the entire clan’s prosperity. Yet some insisted he owed them more of the family fortune.

One sibling disagreed. She was Rose Rady.

Sixty years later, seven cousins and their uncle squabble over hundreds of millions of dollars — a great fortune, even by 21st century standards. All agree that the uncle has ensured the entire clan’s prosperity. Yet they insist he owes them more of the family fortune.

The uncle disagrees. He’s Rose’s son, Ernest Rady.

For generations, the Rady family has made money, shared money, fought over money. The latest battle culminated in San Diego Superior Court last month, with seven of Ernest Rady’s nieces and nephews accusing him of “reneging” on a deal that would have netted each cousin tens of millions. Rady blasted them as ingrates, noting they were all wealthy thanks to his guidance of the family’s company, American Assets.

On March 21, a jury unanimously ruled that Rady owed nothing to his disgruntled relatives. On March 26, Rady and a larger family group — the original seven plaintiffs, plus three others — privately settled a separate action over American Assets’ $500 million balance.

In San Diego, these courtroom dramas ran counter to Rady’s image as a generous civic leader. The 74-year-old La Jolla investor and his wife, Evelyn, have made eight-figure donations to Rady Children’s Hospital and UC San Diego’s Rady School of Management. Why was he in the midst of this family implosion?

“Whenever people say it’s not about money,” said Steven Strauss, one of Rady’s lawyers, “it’s about money.”

Dollars, though, don’t tell the entire story. These lawsuits opened a window onto one of North America’s wealthiest clans. This family tree includes Canadian horse-traders, whiskey-peddlers who thrived in Prohibition-era America and Rady himself, a go-getter who made a fortune in real estate, car loans and banking, before losing more than $1 billion in the recession.

Most weeknights, Ernest Rady leaves his office and arrives home around 6 p.m., where he is met by Evelyn.

On Feb. 6, 2007, he was met by a gunman.

The intruder already had bound Evelyn and a housekeeper with duct tape. The thief trussed Rady, then ransacked the couple’s La Jolla mansion. He finally left around 10 p.m. with only $43 in cash, having rejected the contents of Rady’s wallet: Canadian dollars.

These foreign bills were mementos of a sad journey. Two days before the robbery, Rady had been in Winnipeg to bury a brother-in-law.

Winnipeg, the capital city of Manitoba, the Canadian province bordering North Dakota, is Rady’s hometown. This is where his late parents are memorialized by the Rose and Max Rady Jewish Community Centre. This is where his sisters — Mindel Olenick and Marjorie Blankstein, both in their 80s — live.

The family’s Canadian roots extend to 1891, when Rady’s grandparents moved from Russia. Ekiel Bronfman supported his large family by peddling fuel, frozen fish and horses. One of Bronfman’s eight children, Sam, noted that horse sales were often celebrated at a nearby tavern.

“The bar makes more profits than we do, father,” the boy noted, according to “Samuel Bronfman,” a 1991 biography by Michael R. Marrus. “Instead of selling horses we should be selling the drinks.”

Charismatic and fiercely competitive, Sam looked out for his siblings — to a point. Proposing to divide the family’s spoils in 1951, Sam gave himself the largest amount of cash and Seagram’s stock.

Several siblings protested, but sister Rose came to Sam’s defense: “Sam is being modest about his own share, and generous to all of us.”

Unequal shares were something of a family tradition. In 1948, Rose used $1 million in Seagram’s shares to establish a company to hold and invest her children’s money. She gave each daughter 30 percent of the company; her son, Ernest, 40 percent.

After a stroke felled Rose’s husband, Max, management of this company fell to 16-year-old Ernest. Through college, law school and years as a Manitoba barrister, Rady acted as the family’s chief financial officer. He enjoyed spectacular results — especially after leaving the law and Canada for San Diego. His first local investment, in an El Cajon apartment complex, quickly earned a profit. So did investments in office buildings and malls. Later, he prospered in automobile finance and banking.

Early in 2008, Forbes magazine named Rady the world’s 743rd richest person. American Assets was worth $1.8 billion.

Big mistakes

Sam Bronfman, the Seagram’s tycoon, died in 1971. Some of his progeny would squander fortunes on high living, messy divorces, misguided business ventures. Perhaps the low point came in 1976 when a grandson allegedly plotted his own kidnapping to pocket a $2.3 million “ransom.”

Rose Rady’s offspring, though, lived quietly — although a dearth of scandals did not mean a shortage of money. On frequent trips to Canada, Rady huddled with family members to discuss American Assets and other investment opportunities.

Although wealthy thanks to American Assets, niece Carol McArton declined one of those other offers. Soon afterward, Rady cornered her at a family party to inform her that she had made a mistake.

“I opened my mouth to tell him what went into my decision.” McArton recalled. “He turned on his heel and walked away. He felt I should have invested that money and I didn’t do it and I was stupid.”

But another niece enjoyed a playful relationship with Rady. “I called him Uncle Furnace, because he was full of hot air,” said Dr. Gail Wagner, now a hematologist/oncologist in the Bay Area. “And I was Gail the Pail because I was all wet.”

In September 2007, Rady informed Wagner and her cousins that he was thinking about buying out American Assets’s shareholders. He wouldn’t live forever, he noted, just seven months after his brother-in-law’s death and his harrowing encounter with an armed burglar. He laid out what each person would receive.

At then-current market values, the amounts ranged from $21.5 million to $36 million each.

From Kenya, where Wagner runs a clinic, she emailed: “Thanks for the generous offer.”

But as Rady’s lawyers successfully argued in court, this was no “offer,” just something Rady was considering. Something that became impossible as the recession struck.

By mid-2008, American Assets had lost more than $1 billion. As the largest shareholder, Rady took the biggest hit. “I remember going to an ATM that rejected my card,” he said. “I was struggling to survive — it was the most difficult time of my life.”

He appeared in another Forbes article. The headline: “America’s Biggest Billionaire Losers of 2008.”

Despite these losses, Rady was still wealthy. But he was soon besieged from another quarter. In October 2009, Wagner and a nephew, Dan Blankstein, sued Uncle Ernest. By late 2011, five more relatives joined in; their lawyers included Gail’s husband, Arne Wagner.